


Sensory Stimulus

by marchionessofblackadder



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV), Stargate Universe
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-31
Updated: 2013-12-31
Packaged: 2018-01-06 20:15:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1111070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marchionessofblackadder/pseuds/marchionessofblackadder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dr. Rush has a headache, and his assistant wants to help. A drabble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sensory Stimulus

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WonderTwinC](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WonderTwinC/gifts).



It was a dull yet swelling pain throbbing heavy just above his eyes in his brow. He hadn’t had a bad one in a while, not like this. The migraines that had come from the tobacco and caffeine withdrawal didn’t necessarily count, but this was different. Everything was affecting him, from the normally soothing hum of the ship to the pungent metallic and strange mildew scent that hung in the air of the cold ship. When he checked his watch for the time, the numbers were fuzzy, and when he glanced at the console, the screen was indecipherable, as well. Putting on his glasses didn’t help, either, and that’s when he knew the pain achingly growing wasn’t going to allow him to work.

Leaning forward, Rush put the heel of his hand between his eyes, finding a little relief in the pressure. He remembered a time when Gloria had done that for him, when late nights of coffee and grading mediocre theses had driven him to the couch in his office, and she had found him in the dark. She would press her hand firmly against his forehead, to the sides of his temples and rub the crown, chasing the pulsing pain away with her talented musician’s hands. Healing hands, he’d once called them.

“Dr. Rush?”

Squinting his eyes open, he glanced across the room, grimacing at his little assistant with the big blue eyes. Her face was pale, but it was always that way. Still, she looked unnerved, and he wondered briefly what she could be seeing, looking at him hunched over and feeling miserable. She was holding two cups of water, and he made a vague gesture with his hand for her to sit them down and leave. Instead, Belle hurried over and pressed one into his hand, asking, “Are you alright?”

“Headache,” he muttered, downing the water in a couple of quick, aggressive swallows. He crunched the styrofoam and tossed it aside, leaning his head back against his hand. “Can’t see the damn screen.”

“Maybe you should lay down,” Belle said, the concern in her voice softening her usual tension. She was used to caring and protecting people-comfortable in the role of the provider. It was a sweet thing, truth be told, if a little grating at times. “It’s quite late.”

“Is it?” he asked, his dulled inhibitions letting her touch his back and his arm to ease him out of his chair. It felt better if he kept his eyes closed, but the sudden movement made his stomach roil. He put his hand out against the console, and Belle froze at his side, hardly daring to breathe as he took in air through his nose, measured and strained.

When the nausea passed, Belle squeezed his arm, saying, “Can you walk?”

“Yes, yes. Lead the way, Miss French.”

It was not hard, in the end, to let his assistant lead him down the hall while his eyes were closed. Most would assume he was too anal-retentive to allow such action, but the truth of the matter was that Dr. Rush was tired, and he was hurting, and he was tired of hurting. Belle’s little hands were warm and sure, confident in this small task of ushering him to bed. She opened the door to his quarters and sat him down on the edge of the bed, lowering her voice to ask, “Will you be sick?”

Rush took a moment to consider, weighing the quickly passed nausea to his present state. He didn’t feel sick, save for the persistent pain in his head and neck, but that didn’t mean the feeling from before wouldn’t come back. He hesitated in his answer long enough to give Belle some idea, and she whispered, “I’ll find something. Let’s get you down, Dr. Rush.”

Her hesitancy was almost endearing, in a foreign way. Gloria had been more abrupt with him, especially in their earlier years together, telling him to get in bed (and on the rare sleepy weekend, out of bed). He supposed he’d earned the caution of others, but he didn’t say anything as she slipped his vest and shirt off. Her fingers fumbled at his belt, but the ache between his eyebrows kept him from laughing at her. He'd make a comment about it later, something about her inexperience and her thoughtful nature. She finally got it off, followed by his boots before she helped him lay back. Listening to her soft foot falls against the floor as she rounded the bed was irritating, but they quieted as she turned his lamp down.

There was another long moment of silence before the weight on the bed shifted, and Belle reached over to brush his hair from his face. Her soft fingers tickled at the bristles of his jaw, and the pressure of her thumb over his eyebrow earned a soft sigh from him as he sank gratefully into the pillow.

“Wake me up in an hour, please, Belle,” Dr. Rush mumbled.

Of course, she wouldn’t, but his ever faithful assistant smiled (he could hear it) and said, “Sleep well, Dr. Rush.”


End file.
